OLD MAN JOSHI

By Rudy Otter

Mr Jaikumar Joshi was slumped in his easychair, dabbing his perspiring bald head with a grubby handkerchief.

Elaine Haybourne, his Anglo-Indian neighbour, could see him through the half-open door of his flat, directly opposite hers. They lived on the thirty-fifth floor of Dhalpuri Block in Mumbai's teeming Byculla district.

She knocked, anyway.

He looked up, putting on his spectacles. "Arre, where have you been?" Elaine was used to the daily question the cranky 85-year-old widower fired at her with all the authority of a railway divisional superintendent that he once was.

"Office, Mr Joshi, working," she intoned, entering the small sitting room and opening the window several inches wider. Warm fresh air started to dispel the pervasive aroma of the vegetable curry he'd eaten.

She picked up the soiled plate, scrubbed it clean with liquid soap, jetted it with tap water and dried and placed it on a metal rack, ready for his part-time cook to serve the next meal. Next, she seized the broom from behind an inner door. "So did you have a good day then, Mr Joshi?"

He screwed up his leathery face."What good day? Radio, television, same old news. All the time repeating." She swept and dusted the sparsely furnished one-bedroom flat. "Now," she said, "is there anything else I can do?"

Mr Joshi gave her a wan smile and shook his head. "I would love to have you as my daughter-in-law. Such a kind and thoughtful girl. Also, I must say, very beautiful."

"Girl?" she laughed. "I'm twenty-eight, actually." She tossed back her long black hair, brown eyes glinting with amusement as she emptied the dust into the bin. "Anyway," she observed, "how can I be your daughter-in-law when you don't have a son?"

His genial expression faded. "I do have a son, you know. Ashok. Two years older than you. But what to say?" Elaine frowned at him. "You've not mentioned him before. In the, what, five years since I moved here after my mother died?"

He shook his large head. "My dear, he's not worth mentioning."

She said: "I'm sorry…didn't mean to…" Mr Joshi fumed, looking consumed by bitter memories. Elaine sat in the chair beside him and reached out to grasp his wizened hand.

"You are all I have, my dear young lady," he said, looking at Elaine over his spectacles. "As for Ashok, the less said the better." He paused. "You are such an unusual Anglo-Indian. During my railway days, I met several Anglo-Indian chaps. Cannot say I took to many of them."

She arched her eyebrows in mock indignation, well accustomed to his blunt talk. "Oh. Why do you say that?" He pulled a face. "Mainly I found them to be a shallow lot. Always playing practical jokes on one another and laughing like hyenas. Silly fellows…"

Elaine glanced at him, tongue-in-cheek. "You think I'm silly?" Mr Joshi gave a dismissive wave. "Of course I didn't mean you." He smiled. "You're different, sensible, very nice and kind also. A credit to your Catholic community."

She stood up. "Thank you. That's good to hear. Well, I'll be off then. Got a date with Francis." He nodded. "I hope that dentist fellow of yours treats you well?"

"Extremely well, thank you, Mr Joshi. Oh, by the way, I won't be seeing you tomorrow evening. Office party, one of our section managers is retiring and I'll be home very late." She wished him goodnight and clicked the door shut behind her.

Down below, on the pavement, Elaine saw three bedraggled children, two girls and a boy, all aged around eight, sitting forlornly with their backs against a dilapidated wall, their eyes half-closed and bony hands outstretched, whispering for help. She stopped, opened her handbag, pulled out three 10-rupee notes and handed one to each child, watching their faces light up with gratitude. Feeling happy for them, she clambered aboard an overcrowded bus and squeezed herself in as the ancient vehicle spluttered towards nearby Mazagaon.

Francis was easy to spot in the crowded café. His slim, tall figure contrasted sharply with the shorter, fatter men and women milling around him at the counter. He turned and saw Elaine coming. "Spare table, that corner," he called, nodding in its direction. "With you in a sec."

She enjoyed Francis's company. His surprise marriage proposal, two months after they'd met at an Anglo-Indian dance in Bandra, had her mind reeling. Elaine had thought about it for a week and said yes, after he'd carried out a superb minor filling on one of her rear teeth and complimented her on an otherwise flawless white set. She did however, often find Francis difficult to fathom. He spoke in riddles, uttering a few words and leaving her to work out what he meant.

He joined her with a tray bearing two large coffees and a plate filled with samosas accompanied by chilli and coconut sauces. The spicy aromas whetted her appetite.

"Right," he said, studying her face. "How goes it, my beauty?"

She said she was fine and recounted an amusing incident involving the office photocopying machine. He reacted with a vacant smile that suggested his mind was elsewhere. When she had finished, he leaned over the table. "Old man, Joshi, how's he?"

"Okay."

"Oh."

She looked into his grey eyes as she sipped her coffee. "What's the matter? You sound disappointed?"

He gave her a knowing look. "Retired senior railway officer. Likes you a lot. Get my drift?"

She wished he would speak his mind and not leave her to fill in the blanks. Frequently, while doing the filing, she'd remember something he said and wonder what made him say it. He would simply smile in that mysterious way of his and expect her to gauge his meaning.

"What do you mean, Francis?" She lifted a samosa, dipped it in chilli sauce and praised its flavour and texture. "Food's good here," he said. She nodded, hoping he would elaborate on his cryptic comment about Mr Joshi but he just smiled, keeping her guessing.

Elaine mentioned that the old man had sprung a surprise on her when he revealed he had a son. Francis sat up. "Son? what son?" She drank a little coffee as he persisted. "Any more information?" Elaine shrugged. "His name's Ashok."

Francis pursed his lips. "Okay, what else?" She asked why he was so keen to know. He pouted. "Oh, nothing. Just curious." He dunked a samosa into the coconut sauce. "So where is this Ashok?" Elaine said she had no idea. He looked preoccupied.

She thought their forthcoming wedding, now just four months away, ought to take priority over idle gossip, and yearned for him to switch his attention to their happy day. Francis didn't. "Old man Joshi," he said. "How old's he exactly?"

"Eighty-five," she said and he whistled.

Their table, adjacent to the street, attracted a disabled boy beggar. Seated cross-legged on a pram base, he wheeled himself up to their table. Francis shooed at him but the emaciated youth watched Elaine wrap up four samosas in a paper napkin and hand them to him. He mumbled his thanks, touching his forehead with the offering, and dragged himself away into the passing crowds. Francis cringed at her charitable act but said nothing as they continued to demolish the remaining samosas.

"About our wedding," she blurted, but he interjected. "Finances need pepping up. Also career structure's shaky. Get my drift?"

This came as a shock to her. She inhaled deeply in an effort to calm herself. "You mean you're having second thoughts?" He pouted. "Depends."

"On what exactly?" she hissed.

"Ah, several factors."

Her temper threatened to flare. "You want to call it off then?" His silence had told her enough. She got up and walked away, noting that he only raised a hand in a half-hearted attempt to detain her.

On the packed bus back to Byculla, Elaine realised that it was not herself but Mr Joshi who had interested Francis all along; hence all his sly questions whenever they met. He'd added two and two together when he realised she had befriended a retired senior railway officer, a widower, and obviously thought he would use her to access the lonely old man's estate which he suspected might be substantial. That's why her mention of a son had rocked him.

Yes, Elaine could see it now and she didn't think much of being used as bait. In an instant she realised she should not take people at face value in case their personal agendas differed greatly from her own. She had seen Mr Joshi as an elderly man in need of care and was happy to do what she could for him without harbouring any ulterior motives.

The retirement party ended later than expected. Elaine returned home, tired, glad she didn't have to be at work before 11am the following day; a surprise but very welcome concession granted by the managing director who toasted everyone with his fifth whisky before sinking to the floor, in a stupor, and had to be revived by staff first-aiders..

The following morning, on her way to work, she spotted Mr Joshi behind his half-open door. Greeting him, she asked. "So, what were you up to yesterday?"

"Oh, very busy," he said, revealing that he had decided to cut Ashok out of his will, and the lawyers, who visited him, made him sign several documents.

"What a terrible thing to do," Elaine said. "to your only child."

"Terrible?" Mr Joshi echoed. "Look what he has done. My wife, such was her exasperation with him that she committed suicide, jumping in front of a train. If I had a gun I would have seized it and shot him dead."

"Oh, my goodness," Elaine blurted. "I … I'm so sorry." Mr Joshi glared at her. After a long pause, he continued: "Instead of settling down with someone as nice as you, Ashok is playing around with unfaithful young married women all over Mumbai. All the good-time girls. Getting into scraps with their angry husbands. Who can blame them for beating him up regularly, half-killing him?" He shook his head. "Never comes to see me, no time even to telephone me, but good. I want nothing to do with him so why should I leave the scoundrel anything, hah?"

He took her hand in his. "My dear, I am leaving everything to you."

Elaine felt stunned. She had no idea what 'everything' meant but immediately requested that he leave his entire estate to a children's charity, and named it. He looked surprised. "What are you saying, my dear? Are you absolutely sure? Anybody else would have…"

"Sure I'm sure," she replied. "Look, I'm lucky enough to hold down a good job. But who is there to look after all those poor street urchins all over the city? You tell me."

He pondered what she had said, then agreed to change his will as she wished. "You are a truly wonderful girl," he said. "Very highly principled. I did not expect this. My word, you impress me no end."

He told her that after the lawyers had left, he telephoned The Times of India and advertised the sale of his properties, fifteen luxury flats in Pune currently occupied by senior army officers and their families. The newspaper also interviewed him, sending a reporter and photographer, and he told them how he was always careful with his money and wanted to invest in property, which he did after retiring. He also told the paper, he said, about Ashok's worthless life and his decision to cut Ashok out of his will. "I said you, my dear, would be the sole beneficiary of my estate." He added: "The report will be in today's Times."

"Oh, no!" she shrieked. "No! No! No! It was very wrong of you to do that!"

He smiled. "But no harm is done as I shall change my will as you wish."

She shook her head. "But don't you see? How embarrassing! What will people think, that I'm some gold-digger? And of course they won't believe I asked you to donate everything to charity…" She bit her lip hard. "This is awful."

Mr Joshi smiled. "Don't worry, I will ask the newspaper to put in another news item making it clear you want my entire estate to go to the charity you mentioned." He went on: "You are a truly wonderful person."

"Just make sure you contact the Times right away," she said angrily.

As soon as Elaine was out of the building she bought a copy of the paper and saw Mr Joshi's stern face on the front page, with the headline: "Former railway boss to sell string of luxury flats." Lower down in the article was the catastrophic paragraph about leaving everything to her. "How dreadful," she wailed to herself.

Arriving in the office she was told someone was desperate to speak to her and had phoned five times in the last ten minutes. She guessed it would be Francis and also knew why he wanted to get in touch so urgently.

As she sat at her desk, the phone rang again. She had guessed correctly. It was Francis.

"Hullo, my heavenly beauty," he trilled. "So sorry about the other night. Not feeling well, you see. My most humble apologies. But now I'm fine. Very fit indeed, oh yes!"

Elaine asked why he'd tried so hard to reach her. What was the problem?

He chuckled. "No problem at all. In fact, very good news. Our wedding is very definitely on again. Career problems are also receding fast."

"That is wonderful news," she said, doing her best to sound excited. "By the way, have you seen today's Times?" She was convinced he'd devoured every word, especially the line about her being Mr Joshi's sole beneficiary.

"Er, ah, j-just glanced," he lied. "But my dear, you have no idea how much I love you. Always have, always will. We will have such a wonderful, ah, marriage and many children. Big house in Colaba, nice swimming pool…"

"How marvellous!" she shrieked. "I'm so delighted, I can't tell you!"

He giggled.

"My darling," she went on, really enjoying the pretense. "I've done something that is sure to make you feel very proud of me."

"What?" he demanded, still chuckling.

"I told Mr Joshi to change his will and leave his entire estate to a children's charity, told him which one, and he has agreed to do so. It will be mentioned in the paper tomorrow. Don't you think that's a wonderful idea? Helping poor kids with nowhere to live, nothing to eat…?"

The phone line went dead.

Elaine replaced the receiver and let out a huge sigh of relief.

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* Rudy Otter is a retired Anglo-Indian journalist who now writes fiction in his spare time.

Email: otterrp@yahoo.co.uk